Tuesday, June 30, 2009

That's how many days that Charlie has been alive. Today is his 10th birthday and as cliche as it sounds, I absolutely cannot believe how fast the time has flown.

I actually went into labor with him 3,655 days ago. Stubborn little thing took over 40 hours to be born. I refer to Charlie's as my "New Age" birth. We had a doula and music playing and lavendar sprinkled around the room to help with my relaxation. (Ha! Relaxation in labor is kind of an oxymoron, isn't it?)

We also had an epidural because after 24 hours of labor with no baby, an epidural sounded better than winning the lottery. After 39 hours, my doc had run out of patience and came to tell me that my VBAC wasn't going to happen. But she checked me one more time and -- woohoo -- I was ready to push!

Mike put in the CD (no iPods) of The King's Singers singing "You are the New Day," which I fell in love while I was pregnant when I heard it on an PBS commercial.

We played it over and over as I pushed. It was still playing as George Arthur was born. All 8 pounds, 5 ounces and 22 inches of him.

Did I say George? LOL! Yep! For about five minutes, he was George Arthur M. Then we came to our senses, I mean, decided... that George did not go with Annie very well. (I still like the name.) So he is Charlie. Charles, when I'm really at my wit's end.

We had donuts for his birthday breakfast this morning and let him open his presents -- an Indians t-shirt and hat to wear to the game tonight. Then I left for work. I surprised myself on the drive by being overcome with emotion that my son is 10 years old.

As the tears flowed I thought about all the things that come to mind when I think about Charlie.

How it seems that he was born with a basketball or a soccer ball or a football in his hand.

How he started walking at 10 months when he had the physical skill for the task but not the sense to do it safely.

How he cracked his head open on a dining room chair when he was two and while I was talking to the doctor in the ER, how he climbed on a rocking chair and stood on it rocking it as hard as it would go.

How he used to disappear whenever the fancy would strike him and how we had to call around to the neighbors asking "Have you seen Charlie?" so often that we had t-shirts made asking that very question. (And how we subsequently had to make our home like Fort Knox to try to contain him.)

How he is so competitive that he once asked someone if they had "won" the walk for the homeless they participated in.

How once, when I teasingly threatened to put Robbie on the curb with a sign that said "kid for sale," Charlie jumped to his defense, saying "No Mom! We love him, even if he is a screamer!"

How he is tenderhearted and a bit contemplative -- two things that most people wouldn't say about him. But I'm his mom and I know.

I'm not sad about it at all, just feeling a little "where has all the time gone?" How is it that he was just a chubby baby eating goldfish in his highchair one minute and now he's a a big kid who announced this morning that he's going to start wearing deodorant?